Always, as long as life was in her; always, whether she worked or laughed, cried or played; always that voice would grip her heart and play upon it and lead her whether she would or no.
It would lead her. It would carry her. It would send her.
Through all the long night she fought it. She would not! She would not give up her life, her will, her spirit! Why? Why? Why must she?
It would take her spirit out of the freedom of the hills and make it follow a trodden way. It would take her life out of her hands and maybe ask her to shut herself up, away from the sun and the wind, in a darkened convent. It would take her will, the will of a soldier’s daughter, and break it into little pieces to make a path for her to walk upon!
No! No! No! Through all the endless night she moaned her protest. She would not! She would not give in to it.
It would never let her rest. Through all her life that voice of the Choir Unseen would strike the strings of her heart. She knew it.
But she would not. Never would she give in to it.
In the morning, even before the coming of the dawn, the music came again; and it beat upon her worn, ragged nerves, and tore and wrenched at her heart until she could stand it no longer.
The sisters were taking up again the burden and the way of the day.